


Loki lands on his feet (always)

by alternatedoom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Sex, Canon Compliant, Exposition, M/M, Multi, Murder Planning, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, Seduction, Self-Indulgent, Sex Work, Slice of Life, Thor: Ragnarok spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: It isn't the worst thing Loki's done.





	Loki lands on his feet (always)

**Author's Note:**

> I do want to emphasize there are _Thor: Ragnarok_ spoilers herein.

The Grandmaster rambles a considerable amount in his distinctive monotone, and Loki discovers the talking continues during sex. Sometimes the rambling devolves further into babbling.

"Oh, oh yes, this is nice, this is just what I had in mind," the Grandmaster says.

"Right there," Loki gasps, and though the sex isn't particularly good, with his fingernails he gouges obliging divots in the soft painted wood of the table. In his head he goes over the key codes he's stolen glimpses of and memorized, mentally polishing the varying series of numbers.

Winding the Grandmaster around his finger is not as simple a matter as Loki could wish, but Loki manages at least to capture his attention without difficulty. The man is a sybarite through and through. Loki initially judges him old enough to appreciate the righteous smolder and temptation of an extended seduction, then decides he was mistaken, the Grandmaster may not be so patient. Either way, Loki knows lust when he sees it in the eyes of any kind of humanoid, for the peculiar look of that gleam rarely varies from species to species.

Not that the Grandmaster hides his avid interest much.

Loki puts little spin on his backstory and parlays this leverage into what luxuries Sakaar has to offer, choosing fine suits of clothes to his taste on the first day, with additional outfits tailored to bespoke perfection delivered by the morning of the second day, and he selects exotic jewels suited to his station by the third, though he never wears any of the baubles. He is not yet that much a whore.

The Grandmaster fails to ask after the druzy crystal brooch, nor the elegant apatite necklace, nor the bracelet chunky with sapphires, not even the ring carved from a single perfect block of mystic iolite that fit as though the jeweler wrought it for Loki specifically, and when he's certain his benefactor has forgotten these purchases, Loki will find a discreet fencer and sell the pieces.

By the end of the fourth day Loki has an allowance and no need to pawn his useless trinkets. The apartment he's given within the palace is suitably spacious and decorous.

Loki enjoys the contrivance for the first few days, the challenge of finding the most innocently suggestive ways to weave his words. A casual touch of the elbow here, a coquettish smile there. Tilting his head just so, all while giving as little ground as possible. The Grandmaster isn't the only one who enjoys games.

They have the hedonism in common, in truth, and Loki holds out for only a week of flirting before he gives in and lets the Grandmaster kiss him. Loki has no intention of testing how long he can put off an autocratic ruler so accustomed to getting what he wants when he wants it, to say nothing of all the currency trading hands on Loki's behalf, to say nothing of all the other beings of various species, humanoid and otherwise, constantly throwing themselves at the Grandmaster or hinting more delicately that they'd jump at the chance to sleep with him. So he doesn't test the Grandmaster's patience beyond the slow-building pace of the tease. Alas, their affair progresses far more quickly than it would if the Grandmaster would allow Loki to make himself more scarce.

For he needs a place to stay, and Sakaar with its perverted, quirky ruler and its protracted passage of time is as good a world as any. Loki's done many things to survive and thrive, and genteelly whoring himself out is not the worst of those. Loki plans to give playing courtesan a go for six months or so. Unlucky accidents are always a risk in dangerous places like Sakaar, which teeters on the brink of open revolt, and Loki's proved he has it in him to make an outstanding king. Sakaar has real possibilities. A few reforms and the mutterings of revolution will soon dissipate. He decides he'll hasten the timetable if the situation worsens or the Grandmaster begins to get on his nerves.

The Grandmaster kisses well, which is not a surprise. However twitchy and self-centered he might be, the man is a sensualist.

Only days after their first kiss, after he's been plied with hand-fed grapes and an hour of lazy foreplay (quite like home really, and the new memory of his time impersonating Odin makes him wistful), Loki finally lets the Grandmaster bend him over in his well-appointed dining suite. Only four or five relatively unobtrusive attendants and guards are there to watch, which is probably as private as they are going to get. Loki spreads his legs and pretends he's at last been overcome by the spendy wooing. The idea is laughable, and he's in entirely the wrong mood, but no matter.

Loki inconspicuously scopes out the landscape beneath the blue and gold robes. The Grandmaster's cock would be below average size for an Asgardian but might be normal enough for an Elder. Loki has not been at all concerned with the issue of compatible biology, for the Grandmaster fucks everything under the cloudy skies of Sakaar and Loki's heard no worrisome rumors, but you never know. Still, despite his modest size, the penetration hurts briefly. Loki grits his teeth, passes off the entry pain as pleasure, and endures the sensation until it turns tolerable.

"Oh yes, I like this," the Grandmaster babbles. "You're great."

"Yes," Loki says in a hiss, making his agreement pass as an utterance of want.

"I'm honestly so glad you ended up here."

"Oh, me too," Loki moans. "Please. Harder."

The token effort to stroke Loki's cock is just that, token, and abandoned all too quickly in favor of the libertine satisfying himself. Not surprising. Loki reaches down and jerks his own cock while he gets fucked. Loki stares at the grain of the wood in the table (still visible through the paint) and tries to exist in the moment. He tries not to think of Odin saying he loved his sons, plural, or his subsequent disintegration into Asgardian fire-sparks, though Loki passed countless hours in prison fantasizing about Odin's end. Loki tries hard not to think of Thor, because thinking about Thor makes his chest feel tight. Loki may be the only surviving Asgardian, though as 'Odin' he'd given Sif permission to journey to Earth not long prior, and certainly a handful of others must have been traveling here or there when Asgard fell, which Loki does not doubt it did. Loki shudders when he thinks of Hela's power, or perhaps it's the coolness of the chamber's air against his Asgardian skin, but the Grandmaster takes the involuntary shiver as a sign Loki's enjoying the feeling of the cock buried in his ass.

All the better for his ruse.

"You're really just... so pretty," the Grandmaster says. "In a manly way, don't get me wrong. Firm and slim and-- it's great. Tell me if I'm talking too much. I just like your body... a lot. And your face, not to knock that."

"Tell me more," Loki mumbles, arching his back when the Grandmaster makes a ponytail of his hair and pulls his head up. Loki closes his eyes and tries to likewise close off his dark thoughts. He thinks instead of one of the serving women who'd comforted 'Odin' in his grief. The long, rough-spun servant's clothes she wore, the softness of her skin though she was older, the heat nestled high between her legs and how wet she got for her king. Then he remembers she's dead too. Along with the eager water-boy, and Frigga, and Thor, everyone he loves dies--

Loki forces himself to refocus again before his cock starts to wax soft. He thinks on the sense memory of his hands slowly venturing up under a skirt, on a young and enthusiastic nod of consent, on the sight of ardor written across an Asgardian face. He recalls the feeling of sinking inside a deliriously hot orifice, tight with newness and wet for his convenience, made illicit because his partner thought him someone else. They've all come to naught but so many memories, yet he has them still. He focuses on the too-light but well-aimed thrusts in his rear, and he stays hard. He succeeds. As he always does, more or less.

"Checkmate," the Grandmaster says when he comes, rather disconcertingly.

An orgy comes next. Loki begged off the first two sex parties to which he was invited, and when declining the third pledged to accompany the Grandmaster to one in the future.

 _After we've gotten to know each other better,_ Loki said, and he flashed a coy smile that contained many promises.

 _Well, now you're talking,_ had been the response.

The Grandmaster holds yet another orgy on one of his pleasure yachts the day after Loki gives in and officially becomes a kept man. Loki attends and finds the gathering equally mediocre as the previous day's sex. He fucks some other high society partygoer on one of the divans carefully fastened with multiple slipcovers, the bottom layers waterproof, the topmost sheets of silk, and honestly he's more interested in the practicalities of the orgy than the Kree man he presses his cock into, all the way in until they're hip to hip. He probably couldn't pick his partner out of a lineup five minutes hence. But he feigns desire and feigns it well, kissing the Kree's neck and cradling his head from side to side, pinching at his nipples and stroking his body to all manner of obscene sounds around them. The Grandmaster lies back and watches the scene they make intently while a Shi'ar woman sucks him off. Occasionally the Grandmaster submits his commentary.

Loki makes sure to tug his Kree partner up onto his knees to show the Grandmaster a proper reacharound. The demonstration might benefit Loki in future. Anything's possible.

"That looks good," the Grandmaster offers, gesturing. "Uh, what you're doing there. He likes that."

Loki squeezes, making the Kree man moan and throw his head back. "Oh, believe me, yes he does."

Loki's confident he can hold the Grandmaster's interest even after he's offered up the full use of his body, and while he's not wrong, his patron's ultimate favor proves difficult to secure. Over the second week he gives Loki a bit more space, which is not a good omen. But Loki will make the situation work. 

The Grandmaster treats him respectfully and expects nothing unbecoming of a king in exile, making the endeavor easier to stomach. The pair of near-identical slaves that trail him everywhere feed the Grandmaster all his exotic foods of choice and service his miscellaneous physical needs: shoulder massages, fanning with a dried sun palm leaf, impromptu manicures. The Grandmaster deigns to feed Loki by hand a few times but never calls upon him to return the annoying favor (though Loki does on one occasion at his own behest, within his own chambers). In semi-privacy the Grandmaster asks Loki to sit on his lap, but in his sumptuous box in the leisure arena, from which they watch hours of competitions at chess and Senet and Petteia and games Loki has never heard of, the Grandmaster doesn't even sit close to him.

The vanilla sex they began with quickly escalates to extensive bouts of bondage and denial. Loki squirms the first time he finds himself tied down, and the Grandmaster smiles to see him struggle in his bonds. When he calls on his magic to reassure himself, he finds the effort fruitless. His magic remains within him, but he cannot successfully make use of his spells. The Grandmaster knows how to restrain Asgardians and sorcerers both, it would seem. But Loki is resourceful above all things, and with practice and experimentation...

"Oh yes, I'm experienced with your kind," the Grandmaster says, watching him test his restraints, and the Grandmaster lets a hand fall to Loki's chest, and so the torment begins. "With all kinds, really." 

As the afternoon wears on, Loki does not have to pretend to strain with need and occasional anxiety against his fetters. He dislikes feeling helpless, at the mercy of another, even for pillow play.

But he endures, and after a couple of such sessions, he relaxes and sometimes he even enjoys this treatment. The meager five inches in the Grandmaster's pants are belied by his oddly sexual energy, and Loki attends the lavish parties, the silly orgies, mingles, drinks, fucks. He remains at the Grandmaster's disposal, and no matter the hour, he always turns up promptly at the master suite when his presence is requested. Incidentally, the Grandmaster no longer requires sleep.

Though luring him into exclusivity would make the process faster and simpler, Loki decides he doesn't need to be a formal consort in order to stage a coup when the Grandmaster meets with an unfortunate tragedy. Loki knows how to manipulate a political panorama to his advantage. So he simply becomes one more paramour in Sakaar's court, albeit the current favorite. He might be safer this way, anyway.

Towards the end of week three Loki decides he will allot the Grandmaster the full six months. If he isn't the Grandmaster's one and only, he'll need the full span of planned time to learn the rest of the key codes.


End file.
